


Guardians of Arda

by Ponytail_Goddess



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 1800's, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Apocalypse, Arranged Marriage, Dagor Dagorath, Drama, Elven Cowboys, F/M, Fake Marriage, Good versus Evil, Humor, Magic, Morgoth - Freeform, Mystery, Romance, Suspense, The Avari
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29597604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponytail_Goddess/pseuds/Ponytail_Goddess
Summary: Duckie is a dark-haired beauty living in Wyoming during the 1860’s. After her father’s mysterious death, she finds herself living in an abandoned farm cabin and enduring the many difficulties associated with life in the west, all while having a foreboding feeling that something evil is lurking nearby. Her life is turned upside-down when she meets the Guardians of Arda, a group of elves who long ago chose to stay in the world of mortal men and help them survive Morgoth’s predicted uprising before the battle of Dagor Dagorath, the end of all things. An apocalyptic adventure, Guardians of Arda is an alternate universe story filled with action, magic, mystery, suspense, and a deep love between two elves that has the power to transcend the end of time.
Relationships: Elladan (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s), Elrohir (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s), Haldir of Lothlórien/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	1. Born of Tragedy

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or anything associated with Tolkien Enterprises. I also do not own any music by Stephen Foster. His lyrics are included in this fanfic; they are old enough to be considered public domain.

ooOoo

**Guardians of Arda**

_By Ponytail Goddess_

Prologue

“The war has ended, yet evil lives on. The lives of men are fleeting, as are their memories. In a matter of a few centuries, all that is currently well-known will be lost. Yet evils lie sleeping in secret places, just waiting to be discovered or summoned. If left unchecked, I fear the ages of men will be few and shall quickly descend into darkness.

“It is said that Mandos himself has predicted Morgoth, the corrupter of Sauron, will once again rise from his prison and attempt to take control of the world. All of Arda will groan in pain as he slowly awakens one unlikely evil after another. He shall seek to pervert what little goodness and light are left in the world. These occurrences will grow in frequency, leading up to a time when good and evil must battle head-to-head once and for all. A great battle will ensue: Dagor Dagorath, the Battle of All Battles. All beings in existence will fight against Morgoth and his allies. The fate of Arda will be within their hands.

“In my mirror, I saw a small contingent of elves who chose to stay in Arda and help the race of men flourish during the end of days. As they sense the awakening of evil throughout the land, they will go on quests to destroy it. They shall seek to protect the race of men for as long as they are able. When the day finally comes for the great battle, they will lead the race of men and their other allies to Valinor, where they shall come to the aid of the elves and Ainur.

“At the appointed time, each of the elves who stay will be blessed with a special ability from the Valar to assist them in their plight during the last days. Many blessings will come from their presence; blessings for both elves and men. When the second song rises up and Arda is rebuilt, there will be great rewards in store for those who commit themselves wholeheartedly to this duty, as they will have sacrificed millennia away from their homes and kin.

“Before all this comes to pass, the elves will have to wait several ages disguised as mortals. They will move around frequently so men do not become confused by their immortality. These elves will blend into the various mortal cultures, learning their ways and living as mortals do for century after century while they wait for their mission to commence.

“For these elves, there will be great evils to face. Not every moment will be filled with hardship though. There will also moments of joy, learning, and numerous blessings. A great camaraderie will be formed between the many members of this contingent—it will have great strength and be unbreakable. This group will accomplish many a great feat and may even uncover the answers to secrets lost to the ages.”

The light of Galadriel’s intense gaze bore into his very soul after she finished explaining the mission. He slowly looked around the room at the expressions of the other elves who were present; their hardened eyes all seemed to be awaiting his answer, as if it would influence their own. Celeborn and Mithrandir stood patiently beside the lady, awaiting his response.

“It is a great honor to lead such a contingent. Are you willing to take up this mantle? Will you sacrifice all you have known in life thus far to aid the world of men?” Galadriel asked, her voice deeply reverberating with power.

Her eyes sparkled as if they already knew his answer. A great tension filled the room though as all the occupants waited for him to confirm it. Truly, they all knew in their hearts he would say.

Haldir solemnly placed his hand against his heart and bowed before his leaders with reverence. _“My lady,”_ he began as he stood back up and met her intense gaze with his own, _“I loyally pledge myself to this duty. You have my oath.”_

ooOoo

Chapter 1: Born of Tragedy

Duckie leaned her head down into the long skirt of her forest green dress, hugging her legs tightly against her chest while she traveled hidden amongst her belongings in the back of a covered wagon. The dirt path was smoother than the rock-infested road they had previously been riding on, but she could still feel the steady trot of the horse’s hooves through the weathered floor of the wagon.

Her bottom was quickly growing sore, for she lacked the cushioning many women had to protect their pelvis bones from damage. Duckie was both abnormally thin and tall in comparison to the other women around these parts and it was making the rough ride through the countryside very uncomfortable.

The bonnet on the wagon was tied closed, leaving her in near darkness as she in between to two large trunks; one was hers and the other one belonged to her father Elroy. Next to her trunk sat her father’s most prized possession—a large Celtic harp he had brought to the Americas when he first immigrated from overseas.

Dull grey light snuck into the wagon through the circular opening by the rear and glistened off the fine metal strings and polished honey-colored wood of the instrument. It was intricately carved with many Gaelic symbols, which seemed strange and foreign in the American West.

Duckie related to these emotions easily because feeling strange and foreign was a regular occurrence in her daily life. She shook her head a bit in frustration while ruminating on it. A transparent tear dripped down her face as she relegated herself to sobbing in silence, not wanting to alert the wagon driver to her state of mourning.

Though she had been born in America, Duckie often felt like she was an immigrant in a foreign land. In many ways she was since she was an immortal who was surrounded by mortals, rather than her own kind. How she acted and moved around had to be disguised at all times; even her own name had been modified so the mortals would not be wary of her.

Duckie’s father had been instrumental in all of this, schooling her in his well-adapted ways since she was very young. He had been a thespian amongst the mortals for several millennia now and knew exactly what to do so they would be accepted. His words on the topic once again resonated clearly in her mind, as if he had just uttered them yesterday:

_“We will do our best to walk like them and talk like them; most importantly, we must blend in with them. However, you must always remember that we will never be like them. Our physical traits, immortality, culture, and beliefs will always separate us from them. Go ahead and learn their ways Duckie, but do not grow too close with them. It is dangerous—they must never find out who you truly are underneath this guise._

_“Men are fickle creatures and often harbor darkness and jealously within their hearts. There was a time when they knew of us and understood us, but that time is no more. They have forgotten about our people and our ways. If they found out about your immortality, the very thing they desire with all their hearts, who knows what they would do to you. Instead, you must coexist with them and never let them know you possess the very thing they crave.”_

That was years ago and now Duckie was finally old enough to understand how much truth lingered in his words. She had grown up witnessing much darkness and the many dreadful doings of men. Yet they were not all that way... No, she had met many good, kind-hearted folks during while traveling with her father. She tried to let those memories be the ones that lingered in her heart.

For the most part, Duckie still heeded her father’s warning to this day. She had always done her best to try and hide the traits that separated her from the race of men. However, it was often not as successful as she and her father had hoped. Once they had moved West, away from the more civilized and populated colonies of men, her differences became more brightly illuminated in the harsher environment that was now her home.

It was terribly obvious to most folks that Duckie was different from the women of the West, for they did not care about beauty the way the women of New England had. No, these hearty folks had too many tasks on their docket each day to worry about such frivolous things. The women here were muscular from hour after long hour of washing clothing, tending to their homesteads, farming, and wrangling their numerous children.

Even though Duckie regularly completed many chores for her father, her body was still willowy and lithe. She had regularly drawn water from wells and tended her father’s garden like other girls her age often did, yet her hands never seemed to strengthen, harden, or blister like the rest. Her skin never tanned or burned from working for hours underneath the sun; not even when she forgot to wear her bonnet.

Because of this, many women found her to be unnatural and unrelatable in her normal state. Thus, her father had spent the last 54 years disguising her to make her look less ethereal. To do this, they often rubbed a bit of dirt across Duckie’s snowy, porcelain skin to make her look as if she had always come in from a hard day of work. They often mussed up her shiny ebony hair too, doing their best to make it look windblown and knotted in a few places. These simple actions seemed to put many of the citizens at ease around her, as every one of them could relate to a day of hard labor.

There were parts of Duckie that could not be disguised though, her height being the biggest one. Duckie was as tall, if not taller than most of the men she lived around in the small, unnamed settlement near the Green River in Wyoming. For some odd reason, her abnormal height seemed to insult the manhood of many males in the area. She had overheard several men whispering to one another about it over the last few years, each saying they would never take her as a wife because she would be a giant towering over them.

Many people also whispered about how unsettling her eyes were. Duckie had hazel eyes, her black pupils swirled with a thin circle of orange, which faded into gold and then the deepest olive green. There was just a hint of turquoise on the exterior of them, rounding out her vibrant orbs.

Such eyes were not unheard of in the race of men, but were uncommon. As was everything else concerning Duckie, hers were much more vibrant and brighter than those of an average person. They seemed to sparkle with light at all times and almost seemed to be filled with an unnatural magic. Though her father had assured her this was natural amongst her kind, the mortals were often wary of it because her intense gaze made them uncomfortable. It was yet another way she was set apart from them.

Despite all of these differences, Duckie had lived peacefully amid the mortals for the longest time because of her father’s stable, supporting presence in her life. He had always been there to encourage her and help her move through this world where she did not fit in—a constant during a life filled with uncertainties.

Even with the great change they had endured recently, in which they mutually decided she would have to start referring to him as her brother instead of her father, they had still been each others’ closest confidants. The alteration had become necessary, as she was now grown up and the pair looked too similar in age to be labeled father and daughter from the mortals’ perspective. Duckie was not bothered by it though, as she understood that keeping their immortality a secret was important to their survival. No, simply having him there by her side was what truly mattered…

She shivered as she stared at his harp forlornly. A sharp pain passed through her chest as she stared at it, longing for that which was lost.

He was gone now—lost forever to an unknown foe, as were many in these dangerous places.

The whole thing had started with commencement of Elroy’s most recent job. Duckie’s father had worked a wide variety of jobs over the years to make a living. He had functioned as an account, a farmer, a ranch hand, a blacksmith… The list went on and on, as Elroy was what many people referred to as a _Renaissance Man_ , or a person who knew many trades and could perform them all expertly.

His most recent venture had been with a new mail delivery service called the Pony Express. Elroy had been chosen for the job because of his immaculate skill with horses and his ability to ride swiftly for hours on end. He had made the trip between multiple towns in Wyoming several times now, trading out for a fresh horse at each station, which were spaced out every 10 miles or so along the route. Duckie had rapidly grown accustomed to him being gone overnight and returning late the next day when he made his trips a few times each week.

Therefore, she had not panicked when he did not turn up at first. An extra day had passed and then two. Duckie assumed he had made a second delivery without coming home to rest. She thought that perhaps the new business he worked for was finally starting to pick up more customers.

After he was gone for four consecutive days and she had received no word from him, she grew worried and sought help. Her friend Margaret from school was married to one of the two deputies in the unnamed settlement. Duckie had approached Margaret’s husband for help, asking him to send a search party along the path once she had visited the Little Sandy Pony Express Station, who had also declared Elroy missing.

Several men from the settlement had ridden out along the trail her father took to try and find him. His horse had been found nearly a mile away from the trail in the dark forest near the mountains. His mochila full of mail was still attached to the saddle of the resilient beast, but it bore no sign of her father. Later, his ornamental dagger had been found in a different area, along with the telltale signs of a struggle. There had been a blood trail, but no trace of her father at either end of it. It was as if he had disappeared.

Nearly a month later, he had yet to be found.

The settlement held a funeral for him just two days ago, as he was presumed to have perished along the trail like so many other folks in these dangerous lands. Father John officiated and a couple of her father’s closest friends had come to say a few kind words about him and extend their condolences. There was no body to bury, just a crudely-labeled cross marker stuck in the dirt behind the church.

Duckie had stood silently mourning by the marker for several hours yesterday. Not only had she lost her father, but also her only confidant and secret keeper. There was no one else like her in Wyoming; at least, not that she knew of. Now Duckie was truly alone and would have to continue to lie and move around frequently by herself.

Feeling rather lost without her father’s guidance, Duckie had easily bent to the will of Father John, the local pastor and father of her close friend Arthur from school. He had suggested what many called a simple solution to her problem—to marry immediately so she would be taken care of now that she had no family left.

Duckie had simply given in as she wallowed in her grief, which had come to a head on the day of the funeral. Now that she had spent a little time thinking about it though, Duckie was scared, as she never imagined such a fate for herself. This idea went against her father’s wishes for her to distance herself from the race of men and Duckie had abruptly realized she made a mistake by so readily agreeing to it.

There was little she could do to survive without making such an arrangement though, as all dealings in the West were done by men. Women had little say in much of anything. There did not seem to be any other pathway available to her. Plus, it was common for the men and women around her to have such dealings, which would help her continue to blend in until she could figure out her next move.

A small part of her also figured it was better than being alone, which was a reality she desperately feared. However, now that the day for the marriage had come, Duckie knew she had been blinded by her grief when she agreed to this proposition. It seemed like the best option at the time, but now that the time had come, several warning bells were ringing in her head concerning her up-and-coming nuptials.

Her heart started to beat faster as she felt the wagon come to a stop. Duckie wrapped her body-length coat around her simple frock tightly without bothering to button its navy-colored lapels closed. She hastily made her way to the back of the wagon and untied the white canvas bonnet, revealing a beautiful, but unfamiliar country territory that she had never seen before.

Rain was falling from the slate grey clouds that filled the sky overhead, pouring down as if the very sky was shedding tears over her entrapment. Were the clouds privy to her father’s fate? Did they weep for her plight as she went to meet the stranger she would marry? Every drop seemed to whisper “no” as they pelted the knee-high grasses on either side of the wagon where they had stopped.

Yet for some odd reason Duckie felt as if she was in the right place. A light wind that had not been present a minute ago lightly flittered around her and then gave her a small push, as if to help her exit the wagon and head for the cabin sitting before her. While she didn’t fully understand it, Duckie listened to the sign, as the nature had never failed to direct her correctly in the past. She gracefully climbed out of the wagon and pulled her coat over her head while she ran towards the small cabin at the end of the muddy dirt road.

Stopping after she was under the protected veranda of the home, Duckie quickly uncovered her head and surveyed her surroundings. There were small fields of many varieties of vegetables in front of the house. There was an assortment of squash, beans, pumpkins, tomatoes, and so much more! The corn caught Duckie’s eye as it was tall, its great green stalks reaching up to the sky with pride, rife with fully grown ears that appeared to be ready for picking. There was also a large field of grain standing at the corner of the property; it was long and wide, seemingly stretching all the way up to the forest that hid the base of the great Rocky Mountains, which appeared to be great grey shadows looming in the mist of the darkened sky.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Father John unhooking his horse from the wagon and hustling her over to the red barn on the other side of the cabin, which stood hidden by a few vibrant fruit-bearing trees. The little brown mare was tugging at her bit as he led her, clearly upset by the storm. After stumbling a bit in a couple of old wagon ruts in the mud, the two made it into the protection of the barn just as the wind started to pick up and the rain blasted them harder than before.

Duckie gasped as she found herself getting wet even under the protective veranda and quickly jogged over to the door of the cabin. The bottom of her loose-fitting coat nearly tripped her as it blew haphazardly between her scurrying legs. She knocked desperately at the door, hoping to get out of the weather quickly. When no one answered after several seconds, she made the quick decision to try and let herself in anyway. She found the door was unlocked and she entered quickly, slamming the door shut behind her. Droplets of water trailed down her face, clinging to her tendrils of shiny dark hair and plastering them to her cheeks as she quickly caught her breath and looked around.

The first thing she noticed was the smell—there was a manly odor about the place that made Duckie scrunch up her nose with displeasure. She knew little about this man she was supposed to marry, but it was clear he had not been taking good care of himself. She recalled Father Brown having said the farmer had lost his first wife a year after marrying her and had been a widower for over 15 years now… Perhaps he finally realized he needed someone to take care of him after all this time? Had that been why he’d asked for her hand?

After a quick once over, Duckie saw that she was alone and found herself inspecting the cabin closely. The home itself was small, but tidy enough. It consisted of one large room on the bottom floor with a large wood burning stove as the center focal point of the room. A fire was burning in the black stove currently, though it looked as if it had been neglected and could go out at any minute. There were only a few small flames remaining atop a flickering bed of crimson embers. A pot of water was boiling wildly on top of the stove, spitting little droplets of hot liquid onto the floor every few seconds, as if objecting to how long it had rested there.

Duckie found herself drawn to the small kitchenette. She slowly walked towards it, her hand idly dragging across the rough stones of the chinking and dried mud of the daubing in between the dark brown logs that made up the wall of the cabin. It looked as if the farmer had been preparing a meal at some point during the day, as there was food laying out on top of a small table. It looked abandoned though, as a bunch of peeled potatoes appeared to have been sitting on the counter so long that they were mottled with ugly brown spots from air exposure. There was also a fresh chicken on the table next to a rusty metal bucket full of feathers, indicating that it had been freshly plucked. It too had been forgotten and Duckie felt her stomach turn as she watched a few flies crawling on top of it.

Where had the farmer gone off to and why had he left all of this food out half prepared? Had he expected her to come sooner and prepare this meal for them? Duckie cringed at the thought, as she was only a mediocre cook at best. Her father had always cooked for them in the past and Duckie had always washed the dishes after the meal. That was how things had always been at their house; nothing would ever be the same again though, not without her father.

Her hands suddenly cupped her mouth in fear, tears welling up in her eyes once again as she panicked at the thought of this great change. Her heart beat faster as tears rolled down her already soaked cheeks. How could she do this?! Why had she said yes to this?! It was a mistake! A terrible mistake!

Of course, this was the precise moment Father John thundered through the door, slamming it closed as abruptly as she had in an attempt to escape the wet mess the weather had deteriorated into during the last half hour. Duckie tried to wipe her tears away quickly, not wanting to worry him.

It was no use though, for he had already caught sight of her and immediately closed the distance between the two, wrapping her in a familiar hug much like her own father had when she struggled. Duckie had known Father John for a long time though, so it was not uncomfortable. After all, she had been friends with his son Arthur since she and her father had moved into the area five years ago. Father John had already seen her going through ups and downs in her life, though this was certainly the worst he had witnessed.

“Do not be afraid child.” He murmured into her soaking wet hair as she bent her knees and leaned her lanky body downward so her head rested on his shoulder. “Lewis is a good man with a kind heart. I know this is scary, but I have known him for several long years and I can assure you that he will take good care of you.”

“I miss Elroy…” She murmured as she pulled back to look into his eyes. Father John’s chocolate-colored orbs were filled with sorrow and pity for her plight, just as she suspected they would be.

“I know. Your brother was a good man and he will be missed by many in these parts.” He said back, his voice smooth and comforting to her ears. Duckie felt herself relax a bit upon hearing his familiar voice. It was the same voice that had spouted comforting words from the pulpit of the tiny white church at the edge of town every week and the same voice that had joked with her as she, Margaret, and Arthur had studied for Mathematics and English exams at his kitchen table just last year.

As if sensing her nostalgia, he continued to say, “Everything has happened so quickly. I’m afraid I have yet to send a letter to the seminary school to tell Arthur. I’m certain he will be praying for your comfort and peace once he knows.”  
  
“I do wish Arthur was here.” Duckie murmured, staring at the floor while simultaneously wishing it would swallow her up so she could get out of this situation. “He has always been a comfort in hard times.”

“That he is. I know he would want to be here for you. I shall do my best to convince him to stay at school and write you, rather than returning as I’m certain that’s what he’ll want to do when he hears about the tragedy that befell Elroy. Hopefully learning you are in good hands will soothe him while he is away.” He said, his sunken eyes brimming with sadness behind a few grey hairs that were impeding his vision.

“It is best that he stays and finishes his schooling,” Duckie quietly said in agreement as she watched him carelessly push the hairs away from his face, slicking them back across the top of his head.

Father John took a quick glance around the homestead and raised a thick grey eyebrow as his face grew perplexed. “Oh dear, Lewis is not in here? I had assumed he was when I did not see him in the barn. I wonder where he’s gotten off to… Hopefully he did not get caught out in the storm. Well, I suppose we will have to wait for him to turn up before we can begin the ceremony.”

The two waited for over an hour inside Lewis’ home, but even when the storm let up, Lewis did not readily appear at the cabin door. Father John paced the front room over and over in a mild state of agitation while Duckie stared out the window towards the barn. Leftover droplets of water fell from the top of the roof as she watched the sun start to peak out from behind the grey clouds in the west. The sky was tinted with orange and gold as dusk lit up the sky behind the snow-tipped mountains.

Duckie’s heart started to beat a bit faster after Father John announced he would go take a look around the farm to see if he could find Lewis. He asked Duckie to stay in the cabin until he returned with her husband-to-be and she nervously agreed to it. The air was pressing down heavily upon her, thick and alive with the foul feeling she did not quite understand. Her fingers started to shake with fear from where they rested atop the window seal.

Something bad had happened. She could feel it in her heart.

After several long minutes had passed, Father John returned to the cabin briefly to tell her that he was going to check and see if Lewis’ neighbors, the Glenn family, knew his whereabouts. Hurrying back out the door, Duckie watched him ride the tired brown mare back down the dirt road to towards another farmhouse in the distance.

After impatiently pacing the cabin for over an hour, Duckie finally caught sight of a large red-haired family arriving, complete with a grandfather, father, and four strapping male teens of varying of ages. The boisterous group immediately began to fan out and search the farm, all calling out for Lewis repeatedly as the moon made its debut in the sky. The heavens slowly dimmed as the sun ducked behind the mountains for the night. Stars eventually sparkled in the swirl of navy blue and black above them, as if winking at Duckie to reassure her. Their presence did not help her feel any better though.

Lanterns were lit and given to each of the searchers, as well as to Duckie, who lingered nervously within the house as the night progressed. Father John had asked her to stay inside, but after waiting for hours upon hours, she found she could not wait any longer when she heard a commotion outside. Grabbing her lantern, she rushed out onto the veranda and watched as several lanterns were headed quickly towards the spot where the wheat field met the forest’s edge.

Duckie ran as fast as she could towards the congregation of lights, her long legs taking massive strides as she ran alongside the shadowy silhouettes of cornstalks, which at full height were barely taller than her. In her rush, she splashed through various puddles of mud on the dirt path. The smell of muck filled her nose and a few wet droplets dripped down her face as she flew with all haste to the edge of the woods.

Frantic whispering could be heard as she swiftly approached the small crowd, which was gathered around a large, unnaturally flattened area in the field. Though she could hear their feet sifting through the flattened stalks of wheat, her feet were silent as they traversed the field and none of the men noticed her sudden appearance.

Duckie’s eyes widened as she caught sight of a brown-haired man lying still on the ground, his limbs askew in an unnatural fashion. His brown eyes were glassy-looking and empty as they stared out into nothingness. There were two large bloody holes in his neck.

He was dead!

A gasp escaped Duckie’s lips, which drew the men’s attention to her. Father John was immediately at her side, wrapping his arm around her tiny body and guiding her away from the scene rapidly. However, the sight was already deeply engraved in Duckie’s mind and she started breathing heavily as she panicked about what had happened.

“I’m afraid there’s been a terrible tragedy tonight Duckie…” Father John started, using a soft voice in an attempt to soothe her. His face looked just as frightened and alarmed as she felt, so she found no consolation in it. “Lewis has been in some sort of farming accident and has passed away. I am so sorry Duckie.” He continued as he stopped and took his large black cowboy hat off his head. He rested it on his chest in a show of respect towards her as he bowed his head in sorrow.

In her fear, Duckie immediately found herself growing a bit frustrated. “A farming accident?! What really happened to him?! Why does he have two holes in his neck?!” She asked fearfully, her voice crescendoing as she grew more and more upset. She was clearly not being told the truth about the situation!

Father John sighed and gave her a look of resignation. “It appears he was attacked by some sort of animal Duckie, the likes of which we don’t know. It must have been large though and it clearly maimed his body before it killed him. Old Roy thinks it may have been some sort of wild cat who got lost from his home in the mountains. If a big cat like that feels threatened, it will attack nearly anything relentlessly. It’s just speculation though. We may never know what transpired here today.”

Duckie started breathing more heavily as she panicked. Something vicious had killed the man she had been slated to marry and now her whole world had once again been thrown into uncertainty. She had already turned in her keys at the boarding house and the man who ran the place had told her he already had a new tenant lined up for her rooms. Her father was dead and she was on her own with no place to go! What was going to happen to her!?

“Come Duckie, let’s go back inside and wait for the sheriff’s arrival.” Father John said, then guided her slowly back down the muddy road. Feeling numb with fear, Duckie simply allowed this as her heart pounded and her eyes darted to the shadows surrounding her. She hoped above all hopes that whatever dangerous thing had overcome the farmer was not still lurking amongst the fields. The chirping of crickets interrupted the silence of the cool night air, their shrill calls ringing out like warning bells in the night.

Once he ushered her back into the safety of the cabin, Father John stoked the stove and started the kettle once more. He made them each a glass of fresh black coffee. The two sat together uncomfortably at the table, their copper mugs steaming in front of them while they waited for the sheriff to come. The terrible feeling in the pit of Duckie’s stomach did not go away as she eased the hot mug up to her lips and sipped the bitter liquid cautiously.

“I’m so sorry this has happened Duckie. There is nothing to fear though. I will bring you back to town with me and we will find a family you can stay with until another marriage can be arranged.” He placated, once again trying to soothe her with his calm baritone voice. Duckie simply nodded, staring deeply at the steam rising up from her cup as she tried not to cry. She knew Father John would not let her become homeless, but she was still frightened because her future was so ambiguous.

While Duckie had not wanted the farmer to die, she was a bit relieved that she would not have to marry a stranger. She really did not want Father John to find her someone else, but she also did not know how she could get by on her own. Duckie knew what she really needed was more time so she could think though what she truly wanted to do next, preferably before she got stuck in a position that she did not want again. However, she was not sure how to go about asking for such a frivolous thing.

Luckily, she did not have to, as the opportunity presented itself on its own an hour later. The sheriff had finally arrived and was speaking in hushed tones outside on the veranda to Father John. Duckie remained inside the cabin, listening to the two of them intently.

“What took you so long to get here? We’ve been waiting for hours! It is close to midnight now!” Father John hissed, sounding exasperated.

“You are not the only one who has been dealing with bodies tonight, John.” The deep, unfamiliar voice of the sheriff answered darkly before continuing.

“Those Thomas brothers were back in town tonight and caused a big stir at the saloon. Jesse Williams and his friends got into a shouting match with them and one thing led to another. They were firing wildly at each other when I got there. They ran away from me and my deputies, but Wallace Scott was killed and two other boys are on their deathbeds back in town. You’re going to need to go and read them their last rites before they pass. Old Adelaide Lee is also calling for you. Her heart condition has worsened and they say she’s only got a few days left before she passes.”

“Good heavens man, how am I supposed to do all of that?! I’ve got Elroy Hir’s sister inside the cabin, waiting on me right now! She was supposed to marry Lewis tonight and she already sold her room at the boarding house! I’m going to have to find someone who will take her in for a few weeks before I can do anything else and you know how people feel about her-”

“She’s that woman who’s tall enough to be a man, isn’t she? Good luck finding someone for her. That giant of a girl is too quiet and scares away most every person, male or female, who comes her way.”

Upon hearing those blistering words, a cold feeling filled Duckie’s chest as she blinked away the tears that immediately formed in her eyes. Her lower lip quivered a bit as she stared at the ground, feeling rather distraught about her appearance. Was she really so repulsive that no one would take her in? Would she ever fit in here? Would anyone accept her as she was without her father’s help?

“Perhaps the orphanage in the next town over would take her-“

“She is already 18! They turn kids loose at that age. They won’t take her in!”

“54,” Duckie muttered angrily under her breath as she continued to eavesdrop. “I am 54, not 18.”

Oh how she wished her father was here right now! Her thoughts wandered to his comforting smile. She thought of the many times when she stood beside his harp while he played some of her favorite Stephen Foster songs. Duckie had always loved singing along while her father played his harp. Those were some of the most peaceful moments of her short life.

Never again would she experience them…

Tears flowed freely down her face as she sobbed silently at the thought. A certain song stood out to her at this particular moment and filled her mind with sorrow. Before she realized it, she was singing it out loud.

“Hard times,” her hoarse voice serenaded almost soundlessly as she wiped the remnants of her tears from her face gracefully. “Hard times, come again no more.”

Closing her mouth when she heard how pathetic she sounded, Duckie mentally thought about the song and remembered her father’s friendly face smiling back at her from behind his harp while she sang. He always told her she had the fairest voice he had ever heard in his long life. He was always willing to listen to her sing song after song, never tiring of accompanying her-

“Duckie?” a soft voice said, shocking her out of her memories and back into the present. She heard herself gasp as she looked up and caught Father John’s calm face staring down at her from a few steps away. “I’m sorry for startling you, my dear. We’ve got a real problem on our hands though—I need to leave for town right away. The Thomas boys have been up to no good again and there are a couple of men dying as we speak. They are in need of my services, as is an elderly member of our congregation. I’m afraid I’m not sure where to take you at this time and was wondering if you would be comfortable staying in this cabin for a few days until I can figure something out.”

Duckie’s eyes widened at the thought and she immediately nodded. Surely a few days would be enough time to figure out what to do next. If nothing else, she could always use the opportunity to run away and start a brand-new life elsewhere…

For some odd reason, that didn’t feel like the right thing to do now. Duckie shook the thought from her head as she heard Father John continue to speak.

“Lewis was the only surviving member of his family, so you will most likely inherit this farm even though you did not wed him. However, we will have to find you a husband to help you run it. I’ll try and come by sometime next week, once I’ve had time to ask around about eligible bachelors who are looking for a wife.” He finished. 

“I will stay here until you come back for me.” Duckie replied slowly, her mind quickly thinking over the situation. “You say you’ll only be a few days?”

“Yes, today is Monday, so I’ll return by Thursday at the latest.” He promised, nodding to her with a smile that she knew she could trust. Father John was a good man and Duckie knew he would not leave her stranded at the cabin unless he absolutely must.

Thus it was that Duckie found herself alone in the cabin. It was well after midnight when the search party and sheriff finally left the farm. The silence of countryside was nearly deafening to Duckie’s ears and she nervously hummed to herself as she readied herself for bed. Duckie had donned her soft white nightgown, lacing up the high collar tightly around her neck. Her large, lace-trimmed sleeves billowed in front of her face as she tied a lacy white sleeping bonnet under her chin to prevent the rumpling of her hair, which she had placed in a large braid that flowed behind her back all the way down to her hips.

The fire in the stove had been out for nearly an hour and the room was starting to feel chilly. After blowing out the lantern she had on the table, Duckie went to lay down in the darkest corner of the room, which housed the large bed. She ended up scrunching her nose once more, as it reeked of sweaty, unkempt man. Uncertain if she could bear the terrible stench that was encrusted in the blankets, Duckie bent down to see if there was a trundle bed underneath the larger bed.

Blessed stars, there was one! Pulling it out a bit, Duckie bent downward and sniffed the covers. They were a bit musty smelling, but nowhere near as unpleasant as the covers that Lewis had used over and over again without bothering with their upkeep. After expending a bit of effort, Duckie was able to pull the entire thing out and set about tucking herself in beneath the scratchy sheets. The bed was more made to accommodate a child rather than an adult, so Duckie had to force her long legs up to her chest to fit upon it.

Rolling over, Duckie could hear the light crunching sound of the cornhusks packed in the mattress pad below the soft featherbed she was resting upon. Duckie softly hummed a familiar lullaby to herself to try and calm her nerves as she listened to the crickets chirping and the wind rustling through the cornstalks outside.

Just as sleep finally started to overtake her, a moving shadow by the window caught her eye. Duckie did not see what was out there and immediately started to panic. She shot out of bed and silently crawled towards the wall next to the window, hoping to peer out without being seen. Once her back was against the wall, she ever-so-slowly got to her feet beside the window, only to see the shadow of something long and thin move in front of the window briefly. Her head immediately turned to look out the window, but nothing could be seen from where she lingered.

Something was out there though. Duckie could feel it in her bones. A thump sounded on the roof of the cabin, causing Duckie to gasp in fright. Silence reigned for just a minute before a light clicking noise was heard from the roof of the house. Something was lurking above her head!

Duckie held her breath and stared at the ceiling in fear, silently praying that whatever was up there could not fit through the chimney and enter the cabin. Her heart was beating frantically as she watched the ceiling with wild eyes. Her entire being was paralyzed in fear.

The thundering sound of galloping horse hooves suddenly entered her ears. The creature must have heard it too, for it seemed to freeze and listen at the same time as Duckie. A shrill scream unlike anything she ever heard before rang out in the night, which was followed by the skittering sound of multiple feet scrambling to get off the cabin roof with haste. Though she could not see it, Duckie could hear the creature swiftly running across the yard and through one of the fields.

However, Duckie’s troubles were only beginning, as she heard multiple people unexpectedly riding into the farmyard. A couple of shots were fired, which set several of the barnyard animals into a loud state of alarm and made the arriving men laugh loudly. Duckie’s eyes were open as wide as could be as she heard their loud footsteps and bellowing laughter approaching the house.

Glancing over at the door, her heart skipped a beat as she realized she had forgotten to lock it. Uncertain of what to do and quickly running out of time before she would be discovered, Duckie silently ran back to the trundle bed and pushed it under the large bed. She got on top of it to hide right as she heard the door to the cabin slam open, hitting the wall behind it with unnecessary force.

There were four of them, Duckie thought to herself as she counted the muddy sets of boots that had entered the cabin uninvited. Four large, loud men. Her stomach tossed and turned as one walked by the bed she was hiding under. The stench of body odor and alcohol was practically radiating off of him. Duckie would have known he was drunk even if she couldn’t smell him though, as he was stumbling around the room with uneven footsteps, whooping with laughter. Another gunshot rang out through the night. Duckie bit her lip forcefully to prevent herself from making a sound, though she was shaking with fear.

“Earl, put your damn gun down before you shoot someone’s eye out! Haven’t you had enough action for the night?” One of the men called out before Duckie heard a small scuffle break out between the two. There was grunting, growling, and cursing for a minute or so before another voice spoke up.

“You already killed Wallace Scott tonight! Now we’re gonna be wanted for another murder in this town! Thanks a lot Earl!”

Duckie quickly put two and two together with what she had overheard from the sheriff earlier in the night. These were the hooligans he had been talking about—the Thomas brothers! She had heard about them in the past—a set of brothers who tried to take over towns in the west by force, shooting everyone and everything that got in their path. They were dangerous criminals she had seen on wanted posters while shopping at the general store with her father.

“Like you would have done anything different Ralph! If they’d have cheated you at cards, you’d have done the same thing! As if I was going to pay that pig-lipped boy Jesse when he was holdin’ cards up his sleeves-”

“For the love of Pete, just let it go!” A new voice shouted angrily. “We’ve got business to do here and all you two are good for is yapping! Get to looking for some money so we can go!”

“I tell you what, I still don’t think this is a good idea…” The final voice muttered under his breath, the one closest to where Duckie was hiding. “He’s a damn farmer. He ain’t got no money, just like every other poor fellow in this town.”

The one reasonable fellow didn’t stop the rest from tearing through the house though. Duckie watched as one plate after another was thrown to the ground, each breaking upon impact while they looted the cabin. Pots and pans followed in suit and a huge mess soon littered the cabin floor.

“What the hell is this?” Duckie heard a voice ask in an annoyed tone. When she looked over, she saw the man was standing next to her father’s harp, his most prized possession!  
  
 _No!_

“Just some musical crap. No one around here’s got any time for that.” Another voice answered and then Duckie watched in horror as they knocked it over. It clattered to the ground, several of its strings ringing out in protest before a bunch of metal mugs hit the ground, scattering across the floor messily.

A light splattering sound next caught Duckie’s ears and she nearly screamed in horror when she realized what it was—one of the men was urinating against the wall by the bed! The smell was atrocious and Duckie was forced to watch as the stream of waste dripped down the wall and formed a small puddle just a couple of feet away from her face.

She bit down on her lip even harder now, cringing as she felt a trickle of blood drip out of it. She didn’t dare close her eyes though, not even for a minute, as her only possible escape would be to run away if she was discovered. If she was lucky, perhaps the inebriated men would trip over their own feet if she found herself in that situation.

“What’s in these trunks?” Another man asked suddenly. Duckie’s heart raced as she heard him loudly begin to mess around with the lock on one of the trunks. Several curses rang out as another man joined him and tried to help him break into the trunk.

“Here, I’ve got this.” The one named Earl said. A moment later, a loud shot rang out in the room, followed by more vigorous cursing.

“Damn it Earl, you’re going to get us all killed doing that!”

“I got it open Roy! That’s sure more than your butterfingers were doing!”

Another scuffle ensued and Duckie watched in fear as one of the men got pushed to the floor, sputtering curses as he ended up getting cut on one of the china shards that were scattered all over the floor. Luckily, he was facing away from Duckie and quickly got up. She heard him punch the other man and then push him up against the wall with a loud thunck.

“You shut your bone box and don’t you ever do that to me again, you clodhopper! I answer to no one, you hear? No one!” He shouted as he slammed the other man against the wall once again for good measure. Duckie watched as he let him go and walked back over to the trunk, where the other two low lives were kneeling. “What’s in the trunk Ralph? Anything good?”

“Just a bunch of damn dresses and underthings. A big waste of time that was!” He said, slamming the trunk lid down in frustration.

“I didn’t think Lewis was married-“  
  
“He was a long time ago, but she died. What a sentimental old fool he was, keeping all of her clothing for decades after her death. What a sissy!”

“There’s no money here Ralph! I can’t believe you talked us into comin’ here tonight for no good reason!”

“Well, someone’s going to have to come and harvest all these crops! Someone’s going to get his money at some point! We’ll need to keep checking back—maybe we can rob them after they go and sell them to the fort like they said they would in town!”

“Like we have time to keep coming back here over and over again! That could take weeks! I’m sure there are better ways to get rich fast-“  
  
“Yeah, well name one Grover! I bet you can’t!” The first voice interrupted rather impertinently. Duckie watched as they pushed each other repeatedly as they spoke. Her heart started to feel relief as she saw the whole group starting to stumble towards the door.

After one man was pushed to the ground, he dragged his brother along with him and they rolled out onto the veranda punching and kicking each other with vigor. The other two cursed at them and tried to separate them. Soon they were successful and they brushed themselves off before spitting on the veranda and disappearing into the night. Minutes later, Duckie heard them riding away, whooping, shouting, and shooting off a few more bullets as they disappeared into the darkness.

Silence reigned in the abandoned cabin. When at last Duckie thought her shaking legs might once again bear her weight, she carefully crawled out from under the bed. Upon surveying the scene, she could tell the cabin had been completely destroyed by the Thomas brothers. Every piece of flatware was on the floor, most in pieces, with metal cups scattered across the room. Canisters of flour and coffee were spilled upon the floor in the kitchen, along with a generous decanter that appeared to have been filled with milk. Duckie’s trunk was open and lying on its side with all of her clothing wadded into a ball on the floor next to it.

Then there was her father’s harp, his most prized possession, laying haphazardly upon the floor.

Seeing it thusly was nearly too much for Duckie to bear.

Cautiously avoiding the shards of china and glass upon the floor, Duckie made her way to the small kitchen table and, after brushing debris off a chair, sat down gingerly. Tears rolled down her face as she mourned all that she had lost in the last month. Duckie hung her head down in defeat, feeling more hopeless and lonelier than she ever had before.

“What am I going to do now?” She shakily whispered to herself as she buried her face in her hands.

_“What am I going to do?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I’m very excited to share the beginning of my newest story with you! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Please let me know what you think by leaving a review. I’ll try to update soon.
> 
> *Should you want to listen to a version of the song Duckie was singing, I recommend searching for “Hard Times Come Again No More” by the Swingles. They have a modern a cappella arrangement of it that’s very enjoyable. The traditional choir version is great too though!
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> -P.G.


	2. Chapter 2: Change is in the Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks go out to Fatemeh68 for leaving a comment on the story. Also, thanks to all who have left kudos! I hope you enjoy Chapter 2!

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or anything associated with Tolkien Enterprises. I also do not own any music by Stephen Foster. His lyrics are included in this fanfic; they are old enough to be considered public domain.

ooOoo

**Guardians of Arda**

_By Ponytail Goddess_

Chapter 2: Change is in the Air

The faint sound of humming could be heard coming from the light breeze flowing through the cool evening air. The sound was followed by a fair maiden emerging from between the leafy rows of a deep green cornfield. Though the chill of early fall was in the air, she wore no shawl or coat, for her kind was not easily affected by changes in the weather. The vibrant leaves of the cornstalks seemed to almost bow out of her way as she gracefully emerged from the field into the golden light of the setting sun while holding a basket full of cobs, all of which were still wrapped in their fresh-smelling husks.

Not a hint of sweat was on her fair brow, though she had purposely wiped some dirt on her face, just as her father always had during their days together. Upon hearing the delicate blades of grass and nearby squash vines whisper that she was still safe and alone, Duckie breathed a sigh of relief. It had been three days since the Thomas brothers had vandalized the farmhouse and thankfully, none of them had come back since. It had taken Duckie the remainder of the night to clean up the mess they made and she had been too frightened to sleep for the next two days.

Needless to say, she was no longer forgetting to lock the cabin door.

After managing to work through a majority of her fear during her first two days spent alone, Duckie had started tentatively exploring the property. Much to her delight, she had found a small orchard of fruit trees growing behind the house, as well as an underground cellar that was quite large and filled with a nice variety of freshly harvested foods and dried meats.

The entrance to it was well-hidden behind a thicket of blackberry bushes, so Duckie had attempted to move some of her father’s items into the safety of its storage area. It did not go very well though, as his trunk had proven too heavy for her to move on her own and his harp was too large and awkward to carry down the rickety wooden stairs.

Instead, Duckie busied herself with making the cabin cleaner than it had been in years, mopping the floor until it shined and scrubbing the bedsheets over and over again on a washboard until the horrible odor was vanquished. It hadn’t taken very long to get the place into tiptop shape, so after she finished cleaning she relegated herself to starting the harvest while waiting for Father John to return. Having never fully gotten over the experience with the Thomas brothers, Duckie decided to quit while the sun was still shining so she could lock herself inside the safety of the cabin’s comforting walls before the cover of night fell upon the farmlands.

There was something else to worry about too; an evil, looming in the darkness of the forest by the base of the snowcapped mountains. Duckie was very aware that something unnatural had killed Lewis. She suspected that same something had been on the roof of the cabin during the first night of her stay. Whatever it was, it must have been at least a little skittish, as the Thomas brothers had scared it away with their loud carousing and reckless shooting. Still, the plants were frightened of it and had warned her to stay inside at night, as that was when ‘the monster’ came out of hiding to feed.

Just thinking about it made Duckie silently tremble as she dropped a basket of corn down at her feet. “Soon this will be over…” She said to reassure herself, shaking her head at her own fear. “Father John will come back for you either tonight or tomorrow.”

Duckie wasn’t sure whether or not that was a good thing though. She had become quite attached to the farm today, though she didn’t like the idea of living in the middle of nowhere all alone. The only other alternative seemed to be to get a husband, but Duckie knew she could not do that. Marrying a mortal would mean giving up her immortal soul, which was a decision one should not be forced into. While Duckie knew she could marry a mortal if she truly desired to, her father had always advised against it, as she would likely fade away and die from grief when her husband perished.

No, a life like that was not the life Duckie wanted at all.

“Perhaps Father John will listen to me.” She reasoned with herself as she carefully picked up the basket of corn she had gathered earlier in the day and balanced it on her head, then reached down and grabbed the second basket of corn up in her arms and headed towards the barn to put them into storage there. “Perhaps a teaching job could be found.”  
  
It was the only other thing she could think of—becoming a teacher would give her additional time to think through her options and allow her to get out of any sort of arranged marriage, for teachers were not allowed to marry in these parts. Duckie didn’t feel particularly excited about the prospect, but she knew she was intelligent enough for such a thing, as she had taken several levels at school repeatedly when they moved from town to town to hide her age. Her father Elroy had also chosen certain literature and skills, such as music and other arts, to teach her in his spare time. Duckie had quickly excelled at them all and they brought her much joy.

Yes, perhaps teaching could be right for her until she could get her head on straight and figure out what to do next.

As Duckie headed towards the barn to find a place to store the corn, she closed her eyes and took several deep and cleansing breaths, letting the peace of the countryside soothe her anxious thoughts. A moment later, her colorful eyes burst open, wide and mystified.

The air was rife with change!

She could feel it now, lingering heavily over her like a woolen blanket, whispering for her to stay put and step into her destiny once and for all, whatever that happened to be... Duckie was confused because she had never felt this way before, but her good instincts and unique connection to nature had never steered her down the wrong path before. At the moment, she felt absolutely certain of one thing:

Something was about to happen.

Something _life-changing_. 

Something _new_.

Quickly putting the corn into the corncrib she found at the back of the barn, Duckie ran outside as the wind whipped around her, whispering louder and louder to stay and step into her destiny. When she caught sight of what was before her, the voices stopped. The wind suddenly stilled around her.

On the distant trail, more than a couples of miles away from the cabin, was a small wagon train headed down the path. Duckie presumed it was the Oregon Trail. She had always known it was relatively close to the settlement where she lived with her father—they themselves had taken it before they decided to live in the unnamed settlement for a while before moving on towards the west coast.

It seemed as though her destiny was somehow related to those weathered wagons. Duckie could see how each one was covered with a dusty cloth bonnet and was guided by worn out livestock.

Something or someone important was over there.

But what could it be? Or whom?

Feeling nervousness well up in her heart, Duckie quickly ran into the cabin and locked the door behind her. She took the small dinner she had laid out for herself with her to the window and picked at the salted pork and vegetables a bit as she watched the wagon train draw closer and closer to the fields of the farm. Duckie could tell the sun would set soon. These strangers would end up needing to set up their camp near the farm for the night.

What would happen then?

Filled with a nervous excitement, Duckie set about cleaning up the remainder of her food and dishes while she waited for them to arrive. The wind had told her to stay put, so she tried to sit in one of the chairs and wait afterwards. However, she found herself choking at the bit to do something, otherwise her mind grow restless and wander into odd places.

Upon eying her father’s trunk, a wave of nostalgia and loneliness washed over Duckie. An idea rapidly formed within her mind and she abruptly found herself searching through her trunk for the key that would open up his. The small copper key was quickly located and Duckie scooted over to his trunk to with the intention of opening it on her own for the very first time.

This action was not completed as easily as she anticipated. Duckie had never been allowed to look through her father’s trunk before and, though he was deceased, it still felt like an inappropriate invasion of his privacy. Her desire to feel close to him was greater than her sense of propriety though, as he had always been able to ease her anxiety in times like these. Duckie longed to feel his comfort again and his belongings were the only things she had left to remember him by.

With a wavering hand, she carefully undid the lock with the key she had found under his pillow in the boarding house. The lock was removed easily enough, but Duckie sat on her feet staring at the familiar sight for several minutes before she finally had the courage to open it up. The old hinges creaked a bit as she slowly opened up his trunk with care. Immediately, she was hit with the familiar smell of orange blossom, rosemary, and bergamot; it was Caswell No. 6, her father’s favorite cologne. He had purchased multiple bottles of it while they lived on the east coast, not knowing if they would be able to find such fineries in the west. 

_“Our first president, George Washington himself, wore this cologne too. It is very popular.”_ He always said to her as he sprayed some on before going about his day. Duckie felt a tear escape from her eye as she unwrapped two unopened bottles of it that were sitting on top of his neatly folded clothes in the left side of the trunk. Each bottle was wrapped in a soft cloth for safekeeping. She carefully wrapped the bottles back up and set them aside.

Duckie gently ran her hand across his well-starched clothing, taking the immaculately folded white shirts out one at a time. Beneath them were several pairs of pants he had worn regularly, along with a couple pairs of suspenders and a variety of socks and undergarments. A couple of fancier items were beneath everything. It was finery that Elroy surely had not worn since they lived on the east coast. A funny looking jacket and short pair of pants were found beneath them. These, Duckie was certain, were made before the 1800’s. She idly wondered why her father had chosen to hold onto them.

Seemingly having come to the end of the clothing, Duckie turned her attention to the other side of the trunk. A couple of pairs of shoes were on top of a layer of books. Duckie had read several of the books before and paid little attention to them as she set them aside. Underneath them, however, was a second layer of books she had never seen before. These books were not made on a printing press, but seemed to be handwritten with fancy calligraphy in a language that was completely foreign to Duckie. As she flipped through the pages with wide eyes, Duckie found herself tracing the mysterious, beautiful characters with her fingers, idly wondering what each one meant and what language it was.

Had her father spoken a different language that she did not know about?

She had heard him mutter some oddities under his breath from time to time, but truly, Duckie had thought nothing of it. He had come from Ireland, after all, so she had assumed it was Gaelic. These characters, however, were definitely not Gaelic and were unlike anything she had ever seen before.

The first five books she flipped through all looked rather similar to one another. Upon grabbing the sixth book, which was a particularly fat one, Duckie found herself gasping as she opened the cover. A few large, dried flowers unexpectedly flew out from beneath the cover and fluttered onto the floor, losing a couple of stray petals along the way.

“What are these?” She murmured to herself as she gathered up their remnants carefully, trying to protect them from further damage.

They looked like lilies, but they appeared to be rather exotic varieties she had never seen before. There was a deep purple one, a white one with a hint of light blue in the center, and a speckled pink and black one. Though they were flattened and dried, Duckie could tell they were picked while at their prime. Even now, they were still quite beautiful.

“I wonder where father got these.” She murmured to herself as she set them gently beside the trunk. Duckie quickly forgot the flowers though when she opened up the book and found that it was hollowed out inside.

“Oh my goodness!” She exclaimed as her eyes fell upon a large stack of money, which was folded over neatly in a stack. There was more money in Elroy’s book than Duckie had ever seen in one place! How had her father acquired so much?! There was also a large pouch of change, which contained regular American coinage, as well as some golden coins that Duckie did not recognize. She held one in front of her face briefly to marvel at its shimmer in the setting sun, before quickly sticking it back in the pouch and slamming the book shut.

What if someone else found out about the money? Would she be able to stay safe?!

She crawled up to the window and looked to see if anyone was outside of it, but there was no one. The wagon train had not arrived yet, although she could see they were much closer than they were previously. Frightened, but still curious, Duckie peeked back into the book once more to see what else was inside.

The remaining contents seemed to be a large stack of letters, all of them held together with a lovely blue ribbon that Duckie recognized as one she had worn in her hair during her childhood. Duckie removed the letters from the book and stuck it back into the trunk for safekeeping.

She walked the letters over to the table and sat down with them, undoing the ribbon and flipping through them one by one. It appeared that most of the mail was from a man named Eli Dann, whoever that was. There were a few others from a couple of random men, but most of them were from Eli.

Duckie frowned, as she had been hoping there would be some in her mother’s hand. Duckie knew very little about her mother. Her father had told her long ago that her mother died while giving birth to Duckie. Her father rarely offered any additional details about her mother. In fact, it seemed to pain him to speak about her, so Duckie had long ago decided she would no longer ask about her until her father had been given adequate time to heal from her passing.

The questions in her mind about her mother never went away though. She had hoped one day her father would be able to have a much more candid conversation about her, but now that hope had been extinguished along with her father’s life.

Sighing in resignation because she would probably never know much about her mother, Duckie set about opening one of the letters from Eli Dann. However, she quickly realized it was completely unreadable. Though there was a clear address printed in English on the exterior of the letter, the inside was filled with the same calligraphy that was in several of her father’s books. After opening a few more, she found that every single letter her father had kept was in the same unfamiliar language, including the ones from the other men.

Duckie shook her head in astonishment as she stared at the abandoned letters on the table. Her father spoke a different language and had never told her. She had thought there were no secrets between them, but here was a rather large one that had never been revealed.

Why hadn’t he told her about this?

What else might he have hidden from her?

Duckie’s head was spinning as she stared at the beautiful markings on the letters in front of her. “I don’t understand…” She said out loud as she mentally tried to make sense of her discovery. What reason could he have possibly had for keeping this from her? Duckie felt as if her world was falling apart right before her eyes and there was no one she could talk to about it.

Feeling more miserable than before, she quickly put each letter back into its respective envelope and started to stack them up. After a moment, she did notice a small piece of information she could garner from the mysterious letters…

The postmarks were dated.

Duckie flipped through the letters again, immediately realizing her father had placed them in the order he received them. The newest one was addressed to their previous home in Nebraska and had been sent right before they left for Wyoming in 1855, five years ago. The earliest letter was from 1806…

The year Duckie was born.

Unless he had thrown his older letters away, it appeared that her father had only began correspondence with Eli Dann after her birth. Perhaps it was someone he knew from before his marriage to her mother? A friend from school perhaps? Duckie wondered in Eli Dann was still alive and if he would be able to read a letter in English if she happened to send him one.

Knowing there was little other information she could obtain from the letters, Duckie tied the letters back up in the ribbon and placed them back in the mysteriously hollow book. She took all of the books out of the trunk and found a large box beneath them. With careful hands, Duckie opened the box inside the trunk and peeked inside.

This was the most mysterious thing of all. Inside the box appeared to be some form of bassinet, but it was unlike any bassinet Duckie had ever seen before. Rather than the usual ones she saw men carve out of wood, this one was very small and woven from thin, pliable tree branches. Though it looked rather primitive, the branches were surprisingly symmetrical and the entire thing was well-crafted. Most surprisingly, there were turquoise stones woven into the edges; they were large stones, ones that were probably worth a lot of money.

Why did her father have such a thing? Had this been hers as a baby?

Indeed, it appeared to have belonged to her, as she found a few tiny dresses inside of the bassinet. There was also an old china rattle and a woven purple and turquoise blanket, which seemed to be filled with interesting shapes and patterns that Duckie had never seen before.

Duckie probably could have admired these items for most of the evening had the sound of a fiddle not broken her concentration. Glancing out the window once more, Duckie could see that night had covered the lands in darkness, with a large full moon brightly lighting the fields in front of her. Carefully, Duckie repacked her father’s trunk, taking the time to put a couple of dollars from his book into her apron pocket before locking his belongings back up for safekeeping. She scooted her trunk in front of his with the hopes that it would deter any future thieves from examining his pricier belongings.

After lighting a couple of the oil lamps in the cabin, Duckie tentatively walked over to the window and peered out to see what had become of the wagon train. As she had suspected, they were currently making camp quite close to her fields. A large cooking fire had been made in the middle of the wagons, which were in a semicircle formation. One tall blonde man was standing and playing a fiddle while a few others appeared to be cooking something in a large pot over the fire. A few more were standing by and simply watching, talking with one another and smiling with camaraderie.

Though they were far away, Duckie’s eyesight was spectacular and she could immediately see that these men were not like other men. The men she had known in the towns where she grew up came in all different shapes and sizes; some were short and some were tall, some stout and some gangly. They all had varying imperfections, such as large ears and noses, scars, and missing appendages. Most of the ones over the age of 20 sported beards or moustaches.

However, the men in this wagon train looked nothing like that at all. No, these were the most beautiful men Duckie had ever seen. Each and every one of them was tall and had perfectly chiseled muscular physiques. They all looked clean-shaven and many seemed to have long hair. Most of them appeared to be blonde, though a few had dark hair much like her own.

There was something about these men though, something a bit unnatural. It was in the way they moved, with a certain grace and precision that men typically did not demonstrate. Their skin was flawless too; none of them had so much as a blemish on them. Each of them had eyes that practically glowed in the firelight.

“Oh my…” Duckie murmured as she admired them one by one from afar. Each one seemed more perfect than the last, with their long shiny hair shimmering in the moonlight along with their glowing pale skin. Duckie felt the heat of embarrassment light up her cheeks as she caught herself imagining what they would look like without their billowing white shirts and tight vests on. Surely they would look as perfect as the drawings of Italian statues she had once seen in a book about famous artists.

Duckie pulled her trunk up to the window and sat on it with a dreamy look on her face as she watched the men dish out soup to one another from the large pot above the fire. There was a lot of laughing and teasing going on; Duckie could hear their merry tenor voices from all the way across the farm. Having missed the company of others, Duckie found herself drawn to them, wishing she too could take part in their joyous evening.

Over and over again, Duckie looked for signs of women and children amongst the crowd and was puzzled by their absence. After all, she too had traveled the Oregon Trail, multiple times at this point, but she had never seen a group of men such as this before. Usually the trail was filled with families traveling together, seeking out a better life. These men did not appear related though and there was not a single woman or child in sight.

“Are they migrant workers?” Duckie wondered aloud as she ogled them through the window, placing one of her elbows in the windowsill and leaning her head upon her hand thoughtfully. “Where are their wives and children? Handsome men like them must have women lining up in droves to marry them.”

She admired them in silence as they ate, joked, and told tales. Duckie watched as a few of them said their goodnights to one another and disappeared into the wagons. The man with the fiddle soon started to tone down his performance, now favoring slower and more relaxing tunes over the faster ones he played at the beginning of the night. Then Duckie’s heart skipped a beat as she heard a chorus of voices rise up from the fire, each perfectly melding in with the next. The men’s clear voices rang out into the night, creating haunting melodies with lush harmonies.

Duckie had never heard anything like it in her entire life. Her breath caught in her throat as she listened, absolutely entranced by the beauty they created. A tear fell down her cheek before she even realized she was crying. Her whole body was taken with the sound and gooseflesh appeared on her arms in response to the voices mingling in the air.

“Oh my goodness…” She murmured a few seconds after they finished their final note and a sweet silence filled the air once more. “Oh my-”

A loud knock rang out from the door. Duckie gasped with surprise and quickly stood up and turned towards the door. Father John had come for her at last!

Duckie’s heart thundered in her chest as she both rejoiced and panicked at his sudden arrival. She quickly touched the sides of her head to make sure the pointed parts of her ears were covered by her hair and then ran to the door, wiping her face in the process so he would not see that she had been crying.

She quickly lifted the bar from the latch and pulled open the door. “Father John!” She exclaimed as she pulled open the door. “I am so happy to see-“

Duckie immediately stopped, gasped, and quickly took a step backward, her hands covering her mouth with surprise.

Foolishly, she had assumed it was Father John, but it was not. No, she would recognize that face anywhere. The man standing before her was the same height as her, but had long brunette hair with no traces of grey in it. His hair was tucked under a bandana that was pulled just under his mouth, blocking out a bushy brown beard that was unkempt and sticking out from the fabric in every direction possible. His teeth were half-rotted and his breath reeked of alcohol.

It was one of the Thomas brothers.

Duckie immediately knew she had made a terrible mistake and took a step back as the large man leered at her and smiled crudely. “Who do we have here? A squatter in Lewis’ farmhouse?” He said as he stepped in and started to circle around Duckie much too closely.

“I’m no squatter!” She countered, hoping to lie her way out of the situation. “I’m Lewis’ cousin. My husband and I have inherited this farmhouse fair and square! Now get out of my home!” She said, getting louder and louder to try and intimidate the criminal. He said nothing though as his eyes looked her up and down repeatedly, sizing her up as he circled around her.

When he brushed against her body uncomfortably, Duckie took another step back and tried again. “My husband will be home any minute from harvesting and he will not be happy to find an unexpected guest, so get out!” She shouted, pointing to the door with vigor, hoping the unkempt man would believe her and leave.

“You ain’t got no husband,” he finally replied, his eyes shrinking into little slits as he leaned in towards her. “You’re that tall girl from town that everyone says looks like a man. I heard you were supposed to marry old Lewis, but now he’s dead and you’re alone.” He said with a cackle, calling her bluff.

Duckie trembled with fear and tried to step away from him again as he reached up for her face with a dirty hand. She felt the table behind her legs though and was forced to stop, though the man continued to step closer. Duckie cringed as she felt his body press uncomfortably against hers. His foul breath blew in her face repeatedly until she turned her head away from him.

“There is nothing to worry about, my dear little liar. I’m just here for some money and I’ll be on my way.” He commented as his hand grasped Duckie’s chin and forced her to look into his blue eyes. “You’ll tell me where Lewis kept his cash, won’t you? Of course, I can think of a few other fun ways we could pass the time if you don’t.” He crooned as he looked her up and down once more, his eyes lingering uncomfortably on her chest.

Hoping to be rid of this monster, Duckie nodded slowly and reached into her apron pocket for the dollars she had put there earlier from her father’s trunk. “Here it is. This is all he had left.”

When Duckie held up the dollars, the man ripped them away from her immediately and quickly flipped through them. “Three dollars? That isn’t even worth my while. Are you sure this is all he had?” He asked again while pushing her roughly against the table.

She leaned backwards to try and get away from him, but ended up sitting back on the table with the man standing between her legs. Panicking as he reached to touch her again, Duckie heard a breeze from the open doorway whisper in her ear, _“Grab his gun!”_

Without hesitation, Duckie reached into his holster and grabbed the pistol he had, pointing it awkwardly at his chest once she had it situated in her hand. “Get off of me or I’ll shoot!” She shouted.

The man grew angry immediately and tried to grab the gun away from her. A struggle ensued where Duckie tried to hold the gun up in the air where he couldn’t reach it and the man tried to pull her arms down to get it from her. “No you don’t, you little-“

Bang!

The gun went off in the air when Duckie accidentally pulled the trigger. She screamed as the man yanked the gun out of her hands violently afterwards, twisting her pointer finger around in the trigger guard painfully until a soft cracking noise was heard. Duckie screamed a second time, this time from pain as pulled the gun away from her clutches. She watched helplessly as the man raised the gun up in the air. She tried to block her face from the blow that he was about to incur.

It never came though. Instead, she heard a gun cock and a different male voice spoke up. “Drop it or die.”

Peeking through her fingers, she saw another man looming behind the first. Her eyes went wide because she had to look up to see his face. He was the literally the tallest man she had ever seen! Duckie immediately recognized him as one of the handsome blonde men from the wagon train.

His pistol was pressed dangerously against the back of the first man’s head, deep within the thicket of his messy brown hair. A look of utter disdain rested upon his strong facial features as he stared down at the man with grey eyes that practically glowed in the light from the oil lamps.

The Thomas brother in the room knew that he was had because he immediately let the pistol swing down around his finger before dropping it to the ground with a loud thud. The second man immediately kicked it across the room and commanded, “Take two steps backwards and then turn around slowly with your hands up.”

His voice resounded with authority and the criminal listened. Once he was no longer touching Duckie, she tried to get up off the table, but found that she was so anxious her legs were no longer working properly. Instead, she found herself unceremoniously sliding to the ground with a groan, as her back rubbed against the legs of a hardwood chair roughly enough to leave bruises. Despite the pain in her back, Duckie craned her head upward and leaned her body to the side so she could watch the scene between the two men unfold.

The blonde man appeared incredibly confident as he started to interrogate the criminal. “What business do you have with this woman? Why are you treating her this way?”

“She is my wife.” He hissed through his gritted teeth, trying to lie about what had happened. “She’s insolent and needed to be taught a lesson-”

The deepening frown on the blonde man’s face told Duckie that he wasn’t buying into the lie. Before the thief had even finished his sentence, the blonde man grabbed him by the bandana and hauled him upward. He got so close to his face that their noses were almost touching.

“Do not lie to me you disgusting criminal.” He threatened in a dangerously low voice. “She does not wear your ring, nor does she object to my treatment of you. Now try again—what is your business here?”

Duckie could just barely see the thief’s expression as his eyes narrowed at the blonde man and he smiled sarcastically back up at him. “It ain’t none of your damn business.” He said, growing louder with every word as he reached for the gun the blonde was pointing at him. A brief scuffle ensued where the two men fought for control of the gun. The blonde slammed his boot heel down on the other man’s foot, which made him scream in pain. Still, he held tightly to the gun, trying hard to yank it out of the blonde’s vicelike grip. 

Just as it looked like the brunette thief was about to gain control of the trigger, the blonde seemed to take control of the situation. The blonde purposefully aimed the gun at the man’s own foot just as the brunette pulled the trigger. The thief yowled with pain, letting go of the gun for a second and stumbling backwards as crimson blood gushed from the side of his foot where he shot himself.

The blonde put his gun hand down at his side as he watched the thief stumble around the room, crying out in pain and leaving a trail of red liquid smeared across the floor in his wake. The thief wasn’t done trying to fight him though and screamed out as he ran towards the blonde with his hands outstretched. He could barely charge at him in his current condition and the blonde man stepped away from his clawing hands with ease. What was more impressive was how the blonde quickly spun around on his heel and brought his pistol around just in time to smack the thief across the face when he turned to try and attack again. It was all over in a matter of seconds and the thief dropped to the ground like a heavy sack of potatoes. He did not move and was clearly unconscious.

“Filthy mortal.” The blonde muttered almost incoherently under his breath as he holstered his gun in his belt and turned towards Duckie.

After giving her a quick once over, he asked, “Are you hurt?”

When Duckie didn’t answer, he started to walk over to her, but then stopped a few feet short, as if thinking better of it. He held out his hand to her, wordlessly offering her assistance off the floor.

Duckie stared up at him, taking a moment to examine him a more closely. She immediately noticed how handsome he was; his face was framed with shiny blonde locks of hair that seemed abnormally bright in the low light of the room. While most men wore their hair shoulder-length or shorter these days, Duckie could see that this man had hair that was at least as long as hers, if not longer. He had beautiful grey eyes that glistened in the flickering lamplight and a face with strongly defined features, including his nose and chin. Unlike most men though, he did have a beard or mustache, nor did he seem to be sporting any scars or skin flaws. No, he was surely the most perfect man Duckie had ever seen.

_“Trust him,”_ the wind seemed to whisper as it blew into the cabin once more. Before she realized what she was doing, Duckie found herself reaching up and accepting his offer to get up. The man pulled her onto her feet with ease. Duckie marveled at how smooth and soft his hand was—the only other man she had ever known with such hands was her father! Duckie looked him over after letting go of his hand and could see that he moved as smoothly and gracefully as her father as well…

Was he the same as her and her father—an immortal?

Duckie could not see if he had pointed ears like her and her father, as his hair and brown leather hat were covering them up. Below them, Duckie saw he was wearing a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up halfway to his elbows, showing off the deeply corded muscles of his arms. His outfit was completed by a pair of tall brown pants, which were held up by a simple pair of suspenders and a pair of well-worn brown leather boots. His belt held dual gun holsters, each housing a shiny silver pistol.

When Duckie looked up at the man’s face again, heat filled her cheeks as she suddenly realized he was watching her while she had been inspecting his features. He half-smiled down his nose smugly with such a look of pride that Duckie found herself both entranced and flustered by his impeccable confidence.

The man put his hand on top of his brown cowboy hat and bowed his head down to her for a moment. When he met her eyes once again, the hint of amusement only lingered for a few more seconds and then he looked as serious as he had when he addressed the criminal. Duckie was finally able to blink her eyes a few times and snap out of the trance she was in.

“Are you hurt?” He asked again and Duckie shivered, for even his voice was smoother than a normal man’s voice. His warm breath practically felt like silk as it brushed across her burning cheekbones.

Duckie felt herself shake her head in response after a few more seconds passed, having already completely forgotten about her broken finger in the presence of this unusually tall and handsome stranger. Her throat felt dry and all words seemed to have left her.

“What was that man truly after?” He asked, his eyes looking intensely into hers. “What did he come here for?”

Though her lip trembled, as her body had never fully relaxed after the attack, Duckie finally forced her mouth to form the necessary words. “The man who lived here died a few days ago. He wanted to steal his money, but I didn’t know where it was, so I gave him what little I had. He said it was not enough though and that he wanted… other things. I started to fight him and that’s when you came along.”

The blonde closed his eyes and inhaled deeply as his face lifted towards the ceiling, an unreadable expression passing over his face momentarily before it was replaced with a look of repulsion. “Ah, so he is a despicable cur. I shall dispose of him so that you are not bothered by him further.”

With that said, he turned around, picked up the thief, and threw him over his broad shoulder as if he weighed nothing. Duckie’s eyes went wide as she watched him haul the thief out the door; he did not stop until he reached the man’s horse. With a great push, he laid him over the top of the stallion’s weathered saddle.

Duckie watched nervously as he pulled a few things out of the thief’s pocket and then used the coil of rope from his saddlebag to tie him to the top of the horse. Once he appeared to be secured, the blonde went to the front of the horse and let the animal sniff his hand. The horse seemed quite calm in his presence and even allowed him to pet his nose for a while. She heard him whisper something unintelligible to the horse before it galloped off without hesitation.

She had never seen anything quite like that in her entire life.

When the horse had passed the fields and galloped into the darkness, the man came back, his hair glistening beautifully underneath the light of the full moon. He climbed the stairs and stopped a few paces away from her.

“Thank you… sir.” Duckie started and then trailed off, at once feeling awkward because she had not yet learned his name.

“Henry,” he replied with another prideful half smile. “My name is Henry Deere and you need not thank me. I was a sheriff once and though I am about to start a new profession, I will continue to ensure the people who live close to me are safe.”

He turned and walked to the end of the veranda and then pointed beyond it. Though she could not see it, Duckie knew he was pointing towards the location of the wagon train. “My cousins and I have just purchased the land next to this farm to start a cattle ranch. We’re are going to neighbors, so it is good that we have now met, though I wish it had been under better circumstances. May I ask what your name is miss?”

“Duckie Hir.” She said, her voice coming out as a whisper, though she had not intended it to.

“Miss… Hir, you said?” He questioned, cocking his head a bit to the side as he looked at her more closely now. Duckie nodded while feeling a bit confused by the odd look he was giving her. It was as if Henry was trying to figure something out about her, but Duckie could not imagine what it would be. Like magic, the perplexed look that had appeared on his face was gone after a moment and replaced by a very serious look.

“My cousins and I believe in being neighborly, so if something like this ever occurs again, you may come to us for help. I am leaving you that man’s gun; shoot off if you need help and someone from the ranch will respond immediately.” He said in such a tone that Duckie knew he would not take ‘no’ for an answer.

She watched as he used one hand to point into the house where Duckie knew the thief’s gun was still haphazardly lying on the floor. “Here is some ammo for the gun and the money he took from you.”

Henry reached out to her holding up a small box of bullets and the three crinkled bills. Duckie walked to the end of the veranda to retrieve them, but when she reached out, Henry gently caught her hand up in his empty one. For an awkward moment, he held up her hand carefully in his own and inspected it closely.

“You are hurt.” He murmured, softly touching her bruised pointer finger. When the thief had twisted the gun away from her, he had surely broken it; Duckie had heard the crack of her bones and felt the pain well up in her hand at the time. Now that Henry was handling it, she was reminded of how painful and swollen it was.

“I think it might be broken.” Duckie replied. Without letting go of her hand, Henry set the bullets and money on the small rocking chair to his left and then placed his other hand on top of Duckie’s finger. She heard him whisper something under his breath as he ran his fingers gently across her finger a couple of times. As he moved, the pain miraculously eased into a tingling sensation and a few of the darkened spots grew lighter before her very eyes.

“What did you just do?” Duckie asked as she stared up at him in amazement. He met her eyes again and a look of surprise flashed across his face before his look of indifference replaced it.

“Nothing.” He replied, abruptly letting go of her finger. Even when he released it, she continued to feel the tingling from his touch. “It is not broken, just swollen. It will heal in a few days.”

“You did something to it and now it is nearly healed. What did you do?” She questioned, refusing to let it go. He stared back at her icily in response, clearly annoyed by her words. He declined to give an answer though and spoke harshly to her when he responded.

“You are wrong—fighting with that thief has addled your mind. Get a good night of rest and feel better in the morning. I bid you farewell.” Henry said coldly and then jumped over the railing of the veranda and landed on the ground below and started walking away.

Duckie found herself feeling very confused, as the conversation had turned bitter quite quickly and without warning. She was uncertain what she had done to cause his change of heart and shook her head in frustration before walking back into the cabin and locking the door. Rushing over to the window, she watched as Henry walked back to the wagon train through the tall grass.

He did not leave a path of trampled grass in his wake in the way that every other man did.

He _was_ like her.

Different.

Beautiful.

_Immortal_.

“Wait a second…” Duckie muttered, remembering something from earlier. She ran back to her father’s trunk and quickly unlocked it. She tore through the side of the trunk that was full of books until she found the thick, hollowed out one. Her hand took out the letters and she gracefully slipped the ribbon off them so she could flip through them once more.

“No, no, no…” She said to herself as she looked over each one while walking towards one of the oil lamps.

And then she gasped, for there in front of her was a letter from none other than _Henry Deere_.

Time seemed to stop for several seconds before Duckie finally acknowledged the truth out loud.

_“He knew my father.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d love to know what you think of the story so far. All comments are welcome below. Thanks for reading—I will try to update soon!
> 
> -P.G.


End file.
